


where my mixed up life could mend

by verynearlysouffled



Series: where my mixed up life could mend [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Post-Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children, technically pre-thasmin but there's softness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26949781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verynearlysouffled/pseuds/verynearlysouffled
Summary: The grass crunched beneath her, and her fingers tightened around the blades of grass and dirt as she struggled to stand up. Her head spun, but eventually she made it to her feet, hunched over as she considered her darkened surroundings. She could hear the buzzing of insects nearby, and that floral smell that meant summer was here. With a long exhale, she accepted this. Okay. Several months too late, but that wasn’t too bad. Her stolen vortex manipulator was still on her wrist, albeit still smoking from the journey and in need of some solid repairs to fix it. It would take her a while, and some innovation, but she could be patient. She just reminded herself, this was a good result. It could have gone so much worse.It was definitely Sheffield too, she noted quickly. Aside from the summer breeze brushing against her though, there was something else that was off.Or.The Doctor breaks out of prison, only to find that when she gets back to Earth, a lot more time has passed than she ever meant for.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Series: where my mixed up life could mend [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966582
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67





	where my mixed up life could mend

**Author's Note:**

> this actually started all bc i thought i might be into thasmin a little more if yaz hadn’t been a teenager when she met the doctor and then it got a little sad and i actually didn't get overtly romantic with it anyway, but intentions were there and there are definitely ~vibes. it did work though, i am feeling the thasmin in this house tonight. i actually started this back in like july, but lost my steam until the pictures and info on the new season! so there are spoilers for revolution of the daleks (but just what we got from the comic con stream).
> 
> mild content warning for suicidal thoughts (for when the doctor is in prison). it isn’t strongly elaborated on.
> 
> title from cold chisel’s khe san (because i’m nothing if not a sucker for some aussie rock, and i have no shame using the band a second time when naming stories). it’s the vibe of the thing. specifically, the trauma and trying to find one’s place vibes. it’s a great song though, so no regrets ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The grass crunched beneath her, and her fingers tightened around the blades of grass and dirt as she struggled to stand up. Her head spun, but eventually she made it to her feet, hunched over as she considered her darkened surroundings. She could hear the buzzing of insects nearby, and that floral smell that meant summer was here. With a long exhale, she accepted this. _Okay_. Several months too late, but that wasn’t too bad. Her stolen vortex manipulator was still on her wrist, albeit still smoking from the journey and in need of some solid repairs to fix it. It would take her a while, and some innovation, but she could be patient. She just reminded herself, _this was a good result_. It could have gone so much worse.

It was definitely Sheffield too, she noted quickly. Aside from the summer breeze brushing against her though, there was something else that was off. Reading the signals of time and space used to come as naturally as sight or hearing. She remembered once describing the sense as the turn of the Earth. A whole planet falling through space, feeling the rotation of the Earth beneath her feet. It was like she was out of calibration now. There was a throbbing pain in her forehead that she now realised meant she must have injured her primary tempus thalamus. The Earth would continue to rotate, time twisting and bending before her, but no matter how hard she concentrated, she wouldn’t get a more exact read than anything she had just learned using her eyes until she healed.

She touched the wound on her forehead gingerly, feeling the dried blood and raised bump. She just had to be patient. She’d had a lot of practice with that lately. For now, there were other things that demanded her attention.

Her first goal was a shower and fresh clothes. It was like she couldn’t think straight, grease-coated hair, ash and blood and sweat on her skin. Some of it from how long since her last wash, some of it from her less-than-simple escape. She never used to care about grime. Now look at her.

She was careful when roaming the streets of Sheffield. She didn’t want any attention, and thankfully in her state, no one seemed keen to go near her. The smell alone probably kept them back.

She soon found a twenty-four hour gym, looking fairly quiet at this time of night. She had to shake her sonic screwdriver a few times before it would work to let her in, but she soon clicked open the door and made her way through the gym. The shower blocks were easy to find, and she grabbed a folded towel she'd spotted near the front desk along the way.

She turned the shower on as hot as it went, scrubbing viciously at her hair and skin. Under the stream of water, she already began to feel better. With what felt like an entire layer removed from her skin and hair, it was like she was one step closer to being herself again. Whatever that meant.

After half an hour, she finally turned off the water, stepping out into the towel she’d found. She glanced down at the red jumpsuit she’d stripped from and stepped right over it. She wasn’t getting back into it. She needed something else to wear.

Then she heard footsteps.

It was a twenty-four hour gym still open to the public. There was no reason for the string of fear and adrenaline that coursed through her, but they did. Images of Judoon already finding her, ready to drag her kicking and screaming back to the little cell flooded her mind. Never mind that they’d never move this quietly. Never mind that she’d managed to scramble the signal when leaving so she’d have a head start.

She grabbed her sonic screwdriver from the shelf of the shower, for all the good it could do, and she tightened the towel around her, before tentatively moving towards the main part of the changing rooms. She stopped in her tracks though, when the voice spoke.

“Hello?” It was careful but with authority. That wasn’t why she stopped though. She knew that voice. She thought she knew that voice. It had been so long, but-

The person stepped out from behind the corner, and she finally set eyes on them. She paused in place. The other person’s eyes widened.

“Doctor?” The woman certainly looked like Yaz, hair in a long braid over her shoulder. She was still wearing a leather jacket, but this one looked different from those she remembered. And near her eyes, there were little laugh lines that she had never seen before on Yaz. A sickening feeling rose within her as everything began to fall into place.

“Doctor?” Yaz repeated, stepping closer slowly. “It’s you, isn’t it? You’re not…”

She easily finished the sentence herself. _Dead_. Not dead. The air rushed from her lungs. They thought she was dead. She was late, _so so_ late. She resisted letting out the cry that stood ready at her lips, taking a heaving breath and crumbling onto the bench that stood between them, feeling shaky and lightheaded. She felt Yaz sit beside her, and a warm hand tentatively resting above the towel on her bare back. When she jumped a little, Yaz pulled back.

“I’m sorry,” she eventually said through a mouth full of cotton. “I’m sorry.”

Yaz didn’t say anything, and she could see that Yaz’s fingers were wrapped tight around each other, entwined, resisting reaching out for something. “You’re alright,” Yaz said eventually, in a soft yet tense voice. “It’s alright.”

It wasn’t alright. She knew enough about humans that she quite confidently knew that it would never be _alright_ to leave a friend to think you were dead for… she didn’t know how long. And Yaz, wonderful Yaz, was just wanting to reach out to help _her._ And she couldn’t even give Yaz that. It was like a fog was pulling between them, and she didn’t know how to shake it.

Her eyes were watering a little, but she clenched them shut tightly. Breathe in. Breathe out. A few more breaths, a few more moments pressing away tears, and her hearts began to slow a little, and she managed out, “It was a mistake. I’ve been in prison for _too long_ and I made a mistake. I’m so sorry, Yaz-” Her words cut off as she looked up at Yaz, who was staring gobsmacked back at her.

“Prison?” Yaz said.

_Oh, right._ “The Judoon. They found me, after all that in Gloucester,” she said gesturing uselessly with her hand. “I managed to escape eventually.”

Yaz was quiet for a moment, looking away to the floor.

“How long?”

She shrugged half-heartedly. “Awhile.”

Yaz hesitated a moment, before pulling out her phone. “I better let my boss know there’s nothing wrong. Just wait here a minute.” Yaz wandered off to the other side of the room, speaking in a low voice to someone over the phone. She watched curiously as Yaz seemed to be justifying something to the other person, before eventually sighing, hanging up the phone, and turning back around.

“Is it Detective Khan now?” she asked.

Yaz smiled a little in surprise at the question. “No, I’m not a cop anymore. Forgot you wouldn’t have known. I work for Torchwood.”

She frowned. “Torchwood?”

Yaz rolled her eyes but settled back down on the bench next to her. “Someone had to protect Earth,” Yaz said. “That first New Years after you… Well, the Daleks came back. Me, Ryan and Graham had to stop them.”

She raised an eyebrow, looking impressed at Yaz. “You stopped the Daleks?”

“Learnt from the best,” Yaz said with a small, sad smile. “That’s when I met Gwen Cooper. She was running the new and improved Torchwood, only just started up again, and had been trying to stop them too. After it was all done, she offered me a job.”

“No more police officer.”

Yaz shrugged. “This felt more important. I’d been helping save worlds for over a year alongside you and the guys, I figured if you were gone, we had to step up. No one else was going to save Earth.”

Guilt bubbled inside of her. Another friend turned soldier. Maybe Yaz had been too close to it already. She certainly hadn’t helped sway it otherwise. “I’m sorry.”

“You keep saying that, stop it. You didn’t abandon us; you were taken from us. There’s a difference. Not everything’s your fault.” Yaz crossed her arms.

A few minutes passed in silence until she spoke again with a low voice. “How’d you find me then? You don’t exactly look dressed for the gym.”

“Gwen rang to say they’d found some strange energy signals in the area. Since I was already here visiting my parents, and know the area so well, she asked me to check it out. That’s who I was talking to just now.”

“I’m glad it was you,” she said finally.

“Me too,” Yaz said, with a tight smile. “Come on, you can come back with me.” Then, suddenly noticing her state of undress, her smile warmed, and she continued, “After I find you some clothes.”

—

Yaz was staying with her parents, but with everyone asleep, it was easy for them to sneak in with no one to notice. Yaz’s father snoring down the hallway was enough to cover their footsteps.

She slipped into the bedroom first, taking a seat on the end of Yaz’s small single bed. She’d never actually been inside Yaz’s room before, but it looked like she imagined it must have back in the day. There were pictures of her family, Najia and Hakim and Sonya all smiling warmly at the camera for a formal portrait. Yaz and Sonya taking a picture together, but at the last minute someone (she suspected maybe their dad) had thrown a bucket of water over the pair and they were caught somewhere between joy and shock at the water cascading over them.

There was also pictures from their travels on the walls, including one that she still remembered taking. Graham had fallen asleep on the sand of a beach on an alien planet she couldn’t now remember the name of. Ryan and Yaz had posed grinning next to the sleeping man, with Ryan holding up ‘bunny ears’ behind his grandfather. She’d been laughing as she’d taken the picture on the old polaroid camera that Ryan had brought along with him. From that same day was also a picture of Yaz and herself, posing for the picture with warm smiles, the peek of an alien ocean glittering bright green behind them. _We need a nice one_ , Yaz had said, smiling at her with such warmth that she hadn’t known how to say no. _You can’t just have silly pictures, so stand here with me, Doctor and let Graham take the bloody picture._

She was broken out of the memory when Yaz closed the door behind her, laughing a little. “Never thought I’d be sneaking someone into my childhood bedroom. Especially not at thirty-five years old.”

Something tugged inside her chest again, and she felt some of the warmth seeing that old picture brought her drift right back out of her. _Thirty-five_. Fifteen years. Since she’d closed the door, she had been watching Yaz from the bed, but now she looked away.

She could hear Yaz sigh a little but she didn’t turn around. Instead, she bent down to pick up a book that had slid off the bed when she’d sat down. She pretended to be interested in it, analysing the cover and the blurb, thumbing through a few pages. She was actually looking out the corner of her eye as Yaz went to her wardrobe.

“Doctor?”

She looked up finally, closing the book. Yaz was holding up a pair of pyjamas. “I know you only just got in those, but I thought you might like some proper pyjamas instead of lost-and-found’s best.”

“Thanks,” she replied, standing up to accept the clothes.

“And I was thinking, you’re probably pretty hungry. I can’t make too much noise, but I can make a sandwich or two.”

She nodded softly, pushing her hair out of her face. “That’d be nice. Thanks, Yaz.”

“No problem at all,” Yaz said, and her hand twitched where it still rested on top of the folded clothing that she had handed to her.

She stepped back, effectively pulling the clothes away from Yaz.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Yaz said in a small voice, closing the door after leaving.

The too-tight tracksuit pants and heavily stained t-shirt from the lost and found were soon swapped with Yaz’s much more appropriate pyjamas. They weren’t a perfect fit, but at least they didn’t smell of sweat. These smelled like Yaz. These were much nicer.

Yaz came back into the room with a small knock. “Here we go. Not exactly five-star dining but you have a tomato and cheese sandwich, cup of tea, and I even rustled up a banana.”

She gave a small smile back to Yaz. “Bananas are good. Good source of potassium,” she said like rote, taking the plate while Yaz set the cup down on the bedside table.

“Is your head alright?” Yaz asked, sitting beside her on the bed. Yaz reached a hand out as if to touch the bump.

She flinched, and Yaz quickly retracted her hand. “Yeah, not too bad,” she replied, looking to her plate and taking a huge bite from the sandwich.

“You should finish eating and go to bed. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“I can sleep on the sofa.”

Yaz smiled. “Don’t worry about it. You staged a prison escape today, I think you deserve the bed. Besides, mum and dad’ll freak if there’s a random blonde on the sofa. They’ll just assume I accidentally fell asleep there if they see me.”

She was too tired to argue further. Besides, she didn’t want to scare Najia and Hakim Khan in the morning. They were Yaz’s parents, and they’d always been kind. Just like Yaz. So, she just nodded.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Yaz said finally, grabbing a folded blanket from the top of the wardrobe and leaving the room.

She finished her sandwich slowly, picking each crumb off her plate and finishing them too. She ate her banana, peeling each string away from it. With her cup of tea soon drained too, she settled down into the covers and found herself asleep far quicker than she had expected.

—

She woke up in the morning to a small knock on the door. “Yeah?” she said softly, and it creaked open to reveal Yaz.

“Didn’t wake you, did I?” Yaz asked, coming inside and closing it behind her.

She shook her head, despite it being the truth. “I’ve had enough sleep.” She’d gotten into the routine of sleeping far longer than, as a Time Lord, she required. At least unconscious, despite her nightmares, there was something else to see and feel.

“I’ve spoken to mum and dad. They know about the alien thing now, so you don’t need to hide away.”

“You told them?”

Yaz looked a little sheepish. “I told them fifteen years ago you were an alien, a month after I first got back. They needed some sort of explanation for why I was doing so shit, so I just told them. They’re cool with it.”

“Oh,” she said, frowning a little in surprise. Firstly, that Yaz would tell her parents, after so long keeping their travels a secret. Secondly, that Yaz’s parents were _cool_ with it. Parents weren’t usually cool with their daughters being whisked away by an alien with a box. Lastly, that she hadn't thought more closely about how Yaz would have coped when she’d first come back after Gallifrey. If they’d thought her dead-

“Hey, stop that,” Yaz interrupted her. “I can see you’re getting stuck in your head again.” Her face tightened in a grimace as she realised how obvious she was being, but Yaz continued before she could say anything. “I _was_ going to say, dad’s making pancakes. Alien shaped, apparently, for a laugh. But his pancakes never look like anything, anyway. There’s sprinkles?”

She rolled her eyes a little, biting back the hint of a smile as she slid back the bed covers. “Pancakes are good.”

“Yeah, they are,” Yaz said, waiting patiently for her to finish moving. Finally up, she followed Yaz into the kitchen.

Hakim Khan _did_ make delicious pancakes, but Yaz was right that they barely resembled ‘aliens’. She ate them, sprinkles atop and a generous lashing of maple syrup, with a smile towards Hakim that he reciprocated easily.

They didn’t ask too many questions, but much like Yaz, Najia could be inquisitive. She looked ready to pounce with questions, staring at her over her plate of pancakes, but Yaz must have told her not to because she remained quiet.

After breakfast, Yaz found her more clothes to wear. A rainbow tie-dye t-shirt that used to be Sonya’s was offered with a smile, alongside some old jeans that fit a little loose on her, especially after her prison diet. While she dressed, Yaz explained through the door that she’d already rung Graham and thought she might like to go over for a visit.

She’d pressed down the fears rising in her, of judgement, of interrogation, of rejection, and called out, “Yeah, that’d be nice.” Because it would be. She loved Graham and Ryan, and she just had to remember that they were her friends, or else she’d sink somewhere she didn’t want to go back to.

They walked to Graham’s home, apparently in the same place it had always been. She was so distracted on their walk over with anxiety that she didn’t even appreciate the warm summer day. She was kicking herself for it once she realised, but at that point they’d arrived.

Yaz didn’t let her hesitate, knocking on the front door before she had even reached the stairs. Graham must have been waiting near the door because it opened only a few seconds later. “Hello, Yaz, love,” he said, accepting a hug from Yaz, but she saw his eyes already drift down the stairs towards her.

Graham looked much older than the last time she’d seen him. Although the years hadn’t been cruel to him, those fifteen years were far more obvious on his face than they’d been for Yaz. At seventy-five, he moved slower down the stairs, his hand resting on the railing the entire way, but then he’d swept her in a hug before she even knew what was happening.

She stiffened instantly, so much contact so sudden taking her by surprise. But she remembered how Yaz had looked when she’d tried to touch her, and she didn’t want to be the cause of that look on Graham’s face too. So she let him hug her, and she maybe didn’t ( _couldn’t_ ) breathe for a moment, and then she did breathe in, and she could smell his cologne and feel the itchiness from the jumper he was wearing and felt something sweep within her.

Yaz, over his shoulder, looked worried, and about to say something, but to prove she could handle it, because she _could_ , she wanted to, she needed to, she moved her arms to hug him back.

“Hi, Graham,” she said first.

He pulled back, giving her a smile although his eyes were looking a touch wet. “Hey, Doc. Been through the wringer, I hear?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Come in, I’ll make a cuppa. Ryan’ll be here any minute, once he gets away from those rascals I call my great-grandkids.”

There wasn’t time for her to even think about that bombshell, because Yaz had grabbed his arm on one side, helping him back up the stairs into the house, and she followed along close behind.

In the living room, things weren’t so different than she remembered. The television was newer, the sofa and armchairs as well, but the coffee table was the same. The walls had been stripped of wallpaper and repainted but were a similar warm brown to before. It still felt as homely and warm as it had in the past, if not maybe warmer, because Graham had the heat up high.

“I’ll get the kettle going.”

“Let me help you, Graham,” Yaz said quickly. “I know where everything is.”

“Alright, love,” he gave in, sitting in his armchair.

Once Yaz had left the room, he asked. “How’re you going?” She could hear Yaz moving around in the kitchen, drawers opening and the kettle turning on.

“Fine. Good.”

Graham was staring at her in a way she didn’t want to think about, so she smiled at him from her place on the sofa, tight and formal.

The front door opened again before either of them could fill the silence, and she heard Ryan’s voice say, “Hey, Gramps.”

“In here, son!” Graham called back, and she stood up, turning to see Ryan step through the doorway. Like Yaz, there weren’t as many signs that he’d aged. A more defined face maybe, along with a few wrinkles, and she thought he might have somehow grown taller, but she couldn’t quite remember.

“It is you,” he said, mouth gaping at her. “I’d kinda debated whether Yaz had just lost it and dragged some poor stranger around calling her Doctor, but it is you. Oh my God.”

He looked to be debating whether to hug her or not, eventually choosing to, but she was ready this time and moved her arms around him in return. “I can’t believe it’s you,” he said, voice quieter now.

“I’ve missed you, Ryan,” she said. “All of you.”

He pulled back, laughing a little. “Yeah, I hope so,” he said lightheartedly. “Prison then? How was that?”

“Rubbish.”

“Just as I thought. And you’re… okay?”

“Never better,” she said, a little white lie.

They both sat down, her back where she’d sat before on the sofa, him on the other free armchair near her, and Yaz was soon back in the room with a tray of mugs.

“Hey, Ryan,” she said, placing it down on the coffee table.

“Hi, Yaz,” he replied. “How’s it been going?”

“Well, our best alien friend’s back, so pretty good,” she said, with a smile aimed at her. It didn’t come straight away, but she soon found herself with a small smile on her face aimed back at Yaz. "Yourself?"

“Yeah, pretty good,” Ryan agreed. “And you, Gramps?”

“You know me, Ryan. Trooping along, just fine.”

She reached out for her mug as soon as Yaz finished placing everything down on coasters, sitting beside her on the sofa.

“So what’d you do all day?” Ryan asked. “In prison, like. Unless you don’t want to talk about it,” he added quickly.

She shrugged, her legs pulling closer to the sofa, and resting her mug near her chest, one hand wrapped around it, the other close by on her lap. Then, like it was a rehearsed speech (which, it technically was, as on the walk to Graham’s she’d begun planning how she’d answer the inevitable questions), she said, “I tried to make a routine at the start. From breakfast to lunch I’d do exercises. Stretches, push-ups, freestyle dance. Finally memorised the Nutbush. Then lunch to tea, mental exercises. Simple recreational mathematics like happy prime numbers, and incompleteness theorems. Then I’d move on to history. I chronologically organised the entire history of Earth in one afternoon, so had to move on to every other planet I knew. After tea, I’d have musical hour. Sing whatever songs I knew. Bit of air guitar. Then with lights out, I went to bed.”

Yaz was frowning at her disappointedly, but Ryan snorted a little. She smiled a little at that. It was nice to have someone laugh with her, to forget the agonising hours of nothingness. The routine she mentioned only lasted a few days. It was difficult to have discipline with yourself when it felt like the cell was shrinking you every minute you spent there. The pleasures of that cell were few and far in between.

When she’d received a ‘care package’ of essentials a day into her sentence, filled with toothbrush, soap and the like, she’d pored over them. At least three hours was spent counting the individual bristles of the brush, analysing the ingredients list on the back of the soap and toothpaste, alphabetising them, translating them, ordering them acidic through alkaline. Playing word games. What was the longest word she could make of the letters from ‘sodium phosphate’? (She settled on _pseudopotamis_ , a genus of freshwater snails).

When she’d grown so tired of the silence of an empty cell, that was when she decided to start singing and humming and tapping her feet and _anything_ noisy to remind her that she was alive and she existed. She’d remember her guitar from her last body, and the songs she’d practice and play, and where her fingers would need to reach for each note, how quickly she’d dash along the strings, humming along the respective sounds until it felt correct.

When on her second night there, she decided she was going to need to track how long she’d been there. Already falling into the darkness of loneliness, a depression soaking into her every cell, she chose to scratch a little line beside her bed. Something to centre her, to allow her to recognise of the passage of time. But then, that didn’t feel like enough. So she decided that the first line was for Ko Sharmus as well. The man who sacrificed himself to stop the Master’s Cyber-Time Lords. Then for the next few days, she worked her way through the last remaining humans of the cyber-wars that she let down. By the ninth day, it was O, the man before the Master stole his appearance, and maybe, a touch, the man she thought she’d found as a friend before the Master tore it away. Day thirteen was Grace O’Brien. Day fourteen was Bill Potts. Day fifteen was Nardole. It went on. Not always in order. Not always with names. Sometimes she’d strain her memory for hours trying to think of someone she’d hadn’t already added, but at least it gave her something to think about.

The only people she was sure she would never add was Yasmin Khan, Ryan Sinclair, and Graham O’Brien. They were safe. They were home. That was what she was going to hold onto.

She would find herself having conversations with herself, desperate for another voice. The man that would drop off her meals each day through the slot in the cell door would always announce his presence first so she could step back. On the fourth day, while stood back against the opposite wall to the door, she’d made a joke. “Don’t suppose there’s any custard creams this time with my cup of tea?” He didn’t reply, but she’d heard that small release of breath that indicated a laugh and thought about it for hours later.

A day later, he’d prefaced his arrival with, “No biscuits today, either.” That had lifted her spirit right down to her bones, and she’d felt like she was floating for an hour afterwards.

But it didn’t last. He was soon changed with someone else, and that woman didn’t want to talk, barking orders and leaving. Others came along after her who might have been friendlier again, but by that point, she didn’t bother.

For every small moment of joy or conscious existence, were the dragging hours, days, weeks, that she’d spent staring at the walls and ceiling of that stark little cell. She’d imagined death, an end to everything, that _anything_ would be more bearable than the empty existence she was leading. Than the agonising silence and loneliness that left her craving warmth in a way that she’d never before felt in this body.

She didn’t realise that she’d begun falling straight back into that old cell until someone suddenly reached out for her hand. She didn’t flinch this time, just looked to see it was Yaz’s hand, soft and warm, that clutched her hand gently. And like that, the sucking sensation drawing her deep into the nothingness and monotony of that cell waned. She tightly smiled at Yaz, who nodded back. It felt nice, to feel the warmth of someone else. She’d been resistant, at first. It had almost been frightening, after so long with no contact, to feel the warmth and touch of another person, despite how much she’d craved it in that cell. The first time Yaz touched her, she’d been so taken aback that she’d scared Yaz off doing it again until now. But she’d hugged Graham and Ryan now. She was glad Yaz was persistent, and although she wasn’t ready for too much too quickly yet, she tightened her hold on Yaz’s hand for just a moment, just to tell her _yes, more, please, don’t give up on me._

She looked away from Yaz to see that Ryan and Graham had both exchanged a worried glance. Uncomfortable with this, she looked down again, even if it was sure to make them only worry more.

Yaz, thankfully, came to the rescue. “How are my two favourite little monsters, Ryan?”

“Same as always. They’ve missed you. I mentioned I’d be seeing you today and Gracie tried sneaking into the car to come with. I only realised she was there when she sneezed pulling out of the driveway.”

Yaz laughed, and she managed a sad smile herself. Gracie. _Gracie Sinclair._ And she imagined a sweet little girl with that same warm grin that she loved to see on Ryan’s face. Ryan was so happy with his life. Ryan would have always been so happy, even if she’d never come back. Ryan had moved on. Graham had moved on. Yaz had moved on, but-

“Hey Doc, another biscuit?”

“Yes, please, Graham,” she replied, with a large smile. A fake smile. They all knew it, but it didn’t stop her.

She let the focus draw away from her, let Ryan talk about the dead deer someone had left in their car before dropping it off for a routine service at the garage he owned. Let Graham tell tales about the bowling team he was in, and their stunning win against the _Arm Twisters_ , who notoriously would _always_ win, and how he had been convinced they were aliens because of that, but he wasn’t about to let that stop his team winning. Let Yaz recount a tale of the Torchwood workplace, and how someone let an alien loose in the office that ate all the keys it could find. Yaz laughed talking about her coworker trying to explain without mentioning aliens to his wife over the phone that he’d need her to drop off his spare set of car keys because a ‘cat’ had eaten them.

Eventually, Graham had made his way to the kitchen and made them sandwiches for lunch. They continued their catch up, sometimes speaking directly to her, letting her engage and open up when she wanted to, letting her zone out when she needed to while they’d talk about whatever else in their life.

It was like a punch in the gut how much she had missed of her friend’s lives, but the warmth in her chest just being with them kept her planted in her seat, and the endless cups of warm tea left her with something to hold, distract, occupy her.

Eventually, Ryan had to go first. His wife had plans that night and he had to be back home in time to be with the kids. They all took turns hugging him, she included, and she tried to remember every detail of it.

Then Yaz decided maybe they should go too, leave Graham to his evening telly. He’d hugged them goodbye, and just as with Ryan, she tried to hold on to the moment.

Outside again, despite just Yaz by her side, she felt an easiness lift within her. It was a nice afternoon, with small snippets of sunshine peeking through the clouds, and a warm breeze you’d be able to feel into the night. She made sure to pay attention this time. She’d missed the outdoors while imprisoned. Just fresh air was something to get excited about, and she breathed deeply, and let her eyes wander over every new and different sight, so thankful that it wasn’t the four walls of her cell anymore.

She even reached out for Yaz’s hand, who looked surprised but happy by the action, for their walk back to Yaz’s parent’s home.

Once there, they sat together alone on the small balcony. Yaz’s parents stayed inside, and the comforting sounds of music playing, chatter, and a sizzling saucepan made welcome white noise for her.

Yaz was silent, mostly, until suddenly she asked, “How’d you get out in the end?” She looked like she wasn’t sure she _should_ be asking.

“There was an attack, on the prison,” she said eventually. “Someone else was staging an escape plan, someone from a lower level of security. But when they attacked the prison, they managed to lower the cell defences in maximum security that I was able to get out. With everyone distracted, I managed to get to their secure lockup, found my sonic screwdriver and a vortex manipulator. Then I just… got out.”

“That’s awfully convenient,” Yaz said, frowning a little.

She shrugged. “I thought the same, but it was a long time coming. I’d spent long enough imagining all the ways I could get out. It was just a matter of creating the right sequence and a bit of luck on the day.”

“How long coming was it?” Yaz asked.

She hesitated, before saying. “A little over a hundred years, I think.” _I know_. Her head wound might have stopped her time recognition, but she could still remember, and she still knew just how many of those little scratches she’d notched into the cell walls.

36,563 days _._

36,563 people that she could remember hurting the lives of, even if many, perhaps a majority, remained unnamed.

Yaz had looked away from her, staring out of the balcony. “A hundred years,” she repeated.

“Yeah.” She was beginning to regret saying it now.

“I’m sorry,” Yaz said, eventually.

This truly surprised her. “What?”

“We still have our TARDIS here, from when we got back. If I’d known what happened, I would have found a way to find you. We could have broken you out. I’m so sorry, Doctor.”

She felt tears prick her eyes, but ignored them, feeling an uncomfortable ache in her chest. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known.”

“No, you’re probably right,” Yaz said eventually, voice creaking with emotion. “It was _his._ I’m still so sorry.”

_His_. She knew who _he_ was, and she shook her head. Not to deny it, there was no way to deny it, really, but just because she _really_ didn’t want to open that can of worms. Long hours of prison had led to thinking of her oldest best enemy, and it was only a place of regret and loneliness and pain right now.

A few minutes later, her mind seemed to catch up on all Yaz had said. “I forgot you had a TARDIS,” she said, feeling quite thick that it had taken her so long to remember, especially since Yaz had blatantly brought it up. She could feel something else rising within her. Hope, maybe. She’d resigned herself rather early on to needing to do some serious repairs to her vortex manipulator, but her sonic screwdriver had needed repairs and an update first. That timeline in her head was suddenly shrinking fast.

Yaz looked over, eyes a little red. “Yeah.”

She stood up quickly. “Can we go there? Now? If I have a TARDIS, that means I can get back to my TARDIS. Tonight!” That feeling like hope continued to rise, something light making it so much easier to breathe and imagine a future. She had a way to go _home_ , to her _real_ home. Gallifrey left too many questions, and it was gone now anyway, but the TARDIS? Her TARDIS, that she’d stolen so many years ago? That was consistent. That’s where she’d dream of being with those she loved. She thought that with just one minute back inside her TARDIS, she might find the strength to fight back against the darkness that prison had left her.

“You just want to leave?” Yaz said, looking forlorn. “Like that?”

She stopped the waves of thoughts brushing over her, looking down at her friend, her hand falling to her chest in surprise as if she had to hold the heaving emotion inside her body. “Oh, no. Never, Yaz. I want you to come with me.”

“Leave Torchwood, leave Graham and Ryan and all my friends and family?”

She hesitated, the tension bubbling up inside of her. “If you want to.”

Yaz looked down at her lap a moment, mouth agape a little as she thought deeply. “Okay.”

Something popped inside her chest. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Yaz repeated, standing up and holding her hand out. There was no hesitation this time. She reached out and held on tight. It felt like coming back to something. “Let’s go.”

Yaz went inside before anything more could be said, dragging her along behind. In her bedroom, Yaz was soon packing a bag, throwing back in all the things she’d brought with her when visiting her parents. She watched as Yaz kissed her parents on the cheek, giving them big hugs, and the way her parent’s eyes drifted back to her, looking somewhere between loss and joy at the grin on Yaz’s face.

With promises that she’d be back in, “No time at all,” they were outside again and running for the TARDIS, hand in hand. It still stood in the housing estate Yaz and the others had left it in, disguised, ignored by all the people walking past.

It wasn’t long before she was back in the quarry on the refugee’s planet where she’d left her TARDIS all those years ago. The bright blue police box stood out bright against the grey. It was her turn to lead them now, and she was racing forwards, something like a grin on her face as she made her way to the familiar doors.

“Hello,” she said, softly, a little out of breath, laughing. “I’m so sorry,” she continued, her free hand reaching forward to rest on the blue paint. It would need a repaint, she thought. It hummed under her skin, upset, pleased, longing. “I’m back though, promise, and Yaz’s here too. Can I come in?”

The door didn’t hesitate to crack open, and she grinned, if possible, even wider, as she pushed the door inwards, stepping into the golden light.

Just as she remembered, imagined, dreamt of when locked up alone. The TARDIS pressed against her mind, and she welcomed it like the old friend it was. She turned to look at Yaz beside her, who was smiling back with such warmth that it made her stomach flip.

She heard Yaz drop her bag to the floor near the door, and together they walked up to the console, finally parting hands so the Doctor could brush against the buttons and knobs, touching, reminding herself of the ship she’d spent so long away from.

“Where to, Yasmin Khan?” she finally asked, looking up from the console to Yaz.

Yaz looked thoughtful a moment before her grin snuck back through. “I was thinking... everywhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm in the middle of writing a companion piece to this from yaz's perspective (yeah i'm midnight sun-ing it), but it's turning out rather longer than this one because i found while writing this that i had So Many yaz thoughts and ideas and she just kept growing and growing as a character, so... it's coming but it might just take a bit of time.
> 
> anyway, thank you for reading!! i've never written something as long as this, and i'm feeling rather proud of it just on that basis to be honest. comments and kudos are very appreciated <3 and you can find me on tumblr at 'cordeychase' if anyone's interested!


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